Marriage Deal with the Devilish Duke

by Millie Adams

  “What in the devil is happening?”

  Beatrice looked toward the open study door and felt...everything shatter. It was not merely her brother and a few colleagues; it was a house tour. Complete with some of the sharper-tongued gossips of the ton.

  And then she looked up, up at the man who held her in his arms, to see familiar blue eyes. Far too familiar.

  The stars. The sun.

  Briggs.

  His hand was still planted firmly on her buttocks, and suddenly the warmth of his body became an inferno, the strength of his hold a revelation.

  She could not breathe.

  You can breathe. No man is allowed to steal your breath.

  Even so, the fact remained...

  She had flung herself at Briggs. And her brother had walked in just in time to see it.

  Author Note

  Beatrice and Briggs’s story has been in my head in some form or another for quite a long time. I loved the idea of a woman setting out to ruin herself—only to be ruined by the wrong man...who turns out to be the right one. But further to that, the idea of a sheltered young lady and a rather dominant duke fitting together just perfectly is something that’s been sitting there in my imagination for a while, waiting for the right moment. Bea and Briggs were definitely the right moment.

  I have always loved dukes. I don’t know what it is about them. Perhaps it’s the same reason I love a billionaire hero in a contemporary. I love a man with seemingly endless power brought down by the love of a woman who might—for all the world—seem so much less powerful. Yet, in the end, his heart beats for her. And that makes her the most powerful of all. Because love is the most powerful of all. More powerful than dukes, or society, or scandal.

  I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  MILLIE ADAMS

  Marriage Deal with the Devilish Duke

  Millie Adams has always loved books. She considers herself a mix of Anne Shirley (loquacious but charming and willing to break a slate over a boy’s head if need be) and Charlotte Doyle (a lady at heart, but with the spirit to become a mutineer should the occasion arise). Millie lives in a small house on the edge of the woods, which she finds allows her to escape in the way she loves best—in the pages of a book. She loves intense alpha heroes and the women who dare to go toe-to-toe with them (or break a slate over their heads).

  Books by Millie Adams

  Harlequin Historical

  Claimed for the Highlander’s Revenge

  Marriage Deal with the Devilish Duke

  Millie Adams also writes for Harlequin Presents.

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Historical Note

  Excerpt from Stranded with the Reclusive Earl by Eva Shepherd

  Chapter One

  1818

  There were not many things a woman could control in the world. Her life determined not so much by the winds of fate as the whims of men.

  But there was a point where Lady Beatrice Ashforth decided that while she could not be the ultimate queen of her own existence, she could be the architect of her own ruin.

  And in the end it would amount to very much the same thing.

  Her brother, Hugh Ashforth, the Duke of Kendal, might have control over many things, but only so long as she behaved.

  She was through with behaving. The life that Hugh wanted her to live stretched out as grey and unending as a mist on the fields of the Bybee House grounds, the house she would never leave if her brother had his say.

  She would never have a Season. She would never...

  Marriage, he had decreed, was not something she need concern herself with.

  For she was taken care of.

  Her brother had consulted a physician—the one who had cared for her in her childhood—on her continued good health, and it had been the opinion of the doctor that childbearing would be the death of her.

  That had been all her brother had needed to hear to decree that she should stay beneath his protection.

  Beatrice was concerned with her freedom.

  She had spent her childhood shut up in the walls of Bybee House. Everything from fresh air to rain to too much sunlight was deemed the enemy of her health.

  When her father had died, the responsibility for her health had fallen to Hugh. Hugh did nothing by half measures.

  He cared a great deal for her happiness. He brought her sweets from London whenever she wished, new dresses, beautiful bobbles for her hair.

  That was precisely why she’d come up with her scheme. One she had told no one—not even Eleanor, her brother’s ward—about.

  Well, she had told one person. Her accomplice in the plan.

  But she trusted James. His family had purchased a country manor within proximity to Bybee House four years earlier and the two of them had fallen into a strange sort of friendship.

  She had never expected to befriend a man. She knew it was somewhat unseemly for a young lady. But Beatrice was accomplished at sneaking out. It had been the only way she could ever have fun as a child. The only way she could leave her bedchamber.

  More than that, she had sensed that...it was where she might find her strength. Lying in bed, endlessly bled by physicians, confined to rooms with low light. She felt as if she were withering away. A flower starved for the earth, the rain and the sun.

  Out there she had found strength she hadn’t known she’d possessed. It was how she had met Penny, who had once been destined to be her sister-in-law, until the engagement to Beatrice’s brother had been broken. And ultimately, she had found James, and a deep friendship with him.

  That friendship had led to conversations about marriage. He was having issues around the subject as well. He did not want a wife, in truth, and though he had not been able to explain it all to her—he had stumbled over his words and in the end asked if she could simply believe him—they had discussed a potential solution for them both.

  She would have freedom. She would have a life, a real life. A life as a woman, rather than simply as her brother’s shut-in sister for the rest of her life.

  At least tonight the party was at the house, which meant she would be permitted to be in attendance. Though, she was not treated as a real guest. She did not dance. Or have a dance card. Had not made her debut in society.

  For after all, what was the purpose?

  Hugh did not wish her to marry. And so, he did not have any plans to bring her out. It all made her feel so desperately sad. So desperately lonely. As a married woman she would be permitted to attend balls. She knew she was playing a very dangerous game. That her reputation would be poised on the edge of a knife, and the wrong interpretation of the moment, the wrong strain of gossip, the wrong timing, could damage her in a way that made things quite difficult. But she was invisible as it was, and she would rather be ruined than non-existent.

  ‘You look be
autiful,’ Eleanor said.

  Her friend was lounging on the settee in the corner, dressed in a delicate silver gown covered in glittering stars. Eleanor was to debut this Season. She would not be formally presented in court, as her father had not been part of the aristocracy. Bea didn’t know the full circumstances surrounding Hugh’s connection with Eleanor’s family, only that he had been named her guardian and she was now his responsibility.

  Well, Beatrice was his responsibility as well, and he had made decisions about her life that were far too high-handed for her to endure.

  ‘Thank you,’ Beatrice said, looking at herself in the mirror.

  She liked the dress that she was wearing, but she did not look beautiful in the way that Eleanor did. For Eleanor was allowed to look like a woman.

  And Beatrice still... She was not in a sophisticated ball gown, not in the way that Eleanor was. Her hair was not pinned up in the same fashion. But it did not matter. For Beatrice was going to make her own way. Her brother was a duke, and he was powerful. And he prized propriety above all else.

  He had been engaged a year prior to the daughter of an earl. And when he had heard rumours of her affair with a Scottish soldier he had broken the engagement off swiftly. Coldly. Her brother was a good man, and she knew it. His care of Eleanor was evidence of that. But he had absolutely no tolerance for impropriety. Not after the way their father had treated their mother. He had made a mockery of honour, and Hugh despised it.

  Which made the game she was about to play tonight all the more dangerous. Hugh would see her married to James after this. But he would be... He would be deeply disappointed in her. He would not understand. As far as he was concerned he was the head of the household, the head of the family, and what he deemed to be right and true and necessary was so. Her brother was arrogant, all the way down to the soles of his boots.

  He was a duke. No one dared question him. No one except for his best friend, the Duke of Brigham, whom they all called Briggs.

  They were as different as two men could possibly be. They might have the same title, but their behaviour, their outlook on life, was quite different.

  He would understand. When she explained to him. If she was allowed to explain it to him. Ever. If her brother didn’t actually kill her.

  Though, she doubted he would, considering he was pushing her to this place out of his concern for her untimely death.

  ‘You seem distracted,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘I am rather,’ Beatrice said. ‘I only hope that tonight is...’ She could not find a word for it. ‘Fun.’

  What a silly, nonsensical word for planning to upend your whole life.

  Eleanor smiled, but the smile seemed sad. ‘I am sure that it will be. Your brother is intent on finding a husband for me.’

  ‘You don’t sound happy about it.’

  She smiled and it did not reach her eyes. ‘What I want is impossible, Beatrice.’

  Beatrice’s heart crunched slightly. On behalf of her friend. If there was one thing that she knew about Eleanor it was that... Well, she knew that Eleanor was in love with her brother. It had been clear when Hugh had become engaged to Penny last year.

  Oh, Eleanor had been lovely to Penny. And she had said nothing. But the devastation was evident behind her eyes.

  Beatrice had never felt it was at all appropriate to mention it. For no matter how true her feelings were, no matter how real, they were doomed. Hugh would no more return her affections than... Well he would not. For many reasons. Propriety, the title... He would have in mind a very particular sort of woman to be his Duchess. She knew that about her brother. He had very particular ideas. And they would not include Eleanor or her feelings.

  But then, her brother’s plans never did. They did not take into account the feelings of others, only what he assumed to be right. When his former fiancée, Penny, had explained to Beatrice the truth of the situation—that she had not had an affair with a Scottish soldier, but that her father had sold her to him to pay off his debts—Beatrice had believed her. Whether or not her brother had... It hadn’t mattered. The damage had been done. And there was nothing that could have been done about her marriage. In the end, Penny had agreed to marry the Scot and go with him back to the Highlands. But the truth didn’t matter. Not to Hugh, whose opinion of Penny had been altered forever.

  Once Hugh determined someone had fallen short, they could never again be held in the same esteem they had been before.

  That could be her after tonight.

  Yes. It could be.

  But she had two options. She could either go along with what her brother wanted for the rest of her life, or she could attempt to claim something for herself.

  And so she had decided on this endeavour, dangerous though it was.

  She knew that the reputation of a woman was a perilous thing. And that becoming ruined was actually much easier than remaining beyond reproach.

  ‘Shall we go downstairs?’

  ‘Yes,’ Beatrice said. ‘Let’s.’

  It was just time for guests to begin arriving. Beatrice wanted to make sure that she was tucked away in an advantageous corner of the ballroom so that she could watch for the arrival of James. And from there, she would decide the best course of action. Because she would have to figure out exactly where she had to be seen with James. And what exactly they needed to be doing.

  She was not entirely certain how tonight would unfold, and she needed to...think. Needed to get a sense for what was happening.

  She took a sharp breath and steeled herself, as she and Eleanor walked down the stairs. Their feet didn’t make a sound on the rich, burgundy carpet that covered the stairway. Marble from Italy gleamed bright on the floor of the entry, reflecting the lights of the elegant chandelier that hung above. Intricate scrollwork carved into the crown mouldings.

  But it paled in comparison to the opulent ballroom. The marble there was gilded at the seams, frescoes painted on the walls and the ceilings of angels and demons locked in heavenly battle.

  They moved from the entry into the ballroom, and Beatrice immediately set upon the punchbowl. She was quite pleased to see that there were already refreshments placed out, and that there were a few people in attendance. Her brother would arrive on time. Not a moment sooner or later. What was fashionable did not matter to him. It was a matter of being a man of his word.

  When the ball truly did start, Beatrice was relegated to the back by her own sense of propriety. She was a guest without truly being a guest. In many ways it was actually shocking that Hugh allowed her to come downstairs and attend in any measure at all. He could have just as easily kept her shut up in her room. But he did not.

  It was quite the break with tradition. By Hugh’s standards.

  James was not here yet, but she knew that he would be. And soon. Her brother arrived, made greetings to his guests. And eventually made his way to the back of the room.

  ‘How are you finding this evening?’ Hugh asked.

  ‘Lovely. As ever,’ she said, fighting the urge to twist her hands with nervousness. He would ask what was wrong if she displayed a hint of nerves. He was far too perceptive. It was not part of his charm.

  His eyes darted behind her. ‘Where’s Eleanor?’

  ‘I do believe that she was asked to dance,’ Beatrice said.

  ‘Was she indeed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her brother’s gaze was sharp.

  And she could see that his concerns would be transferred elsewhere. She did wonder sometimes, if he believed so strongly in the force of his own will that he did not worry about her defying him, or if he simply did not believe her to be a woman. If he did not believe that anyone would ever see her that way. It was entirely possible that he believed he did not have to guard her against suitors because he did not believe that she was capable of having any.

  He saw her as a sickly chil
d.

  The thought made her very sad. Deeply so. And sometimes when that despair welled up inside her she...

  Her chest felt heavy. And she ached. That clawing feeling that she couldn’t breathe overtook her and she worked hard at her trick. One she had cultivated on those long days spent ill. Was it her body denying her breath through restricted airways or fear making her think it was? If she slowed the moment, the world, she could find the truth. And so she did, relaxing her shoulders and breathing in deep. Then she dug her fingernails into her palm, the slight pain soothing.

  Pain was an interesting thing.

  At least, in Beatrice’s opinion. Some avoided it, and she supposed that was its purpose. To tell you to turn away from a path, to warn you of harm.

  But she hadn’t had that choice. Pain was part of saving her life, part of the regimen doctors used on her body.

  She’d had to forge a different way of relating to it.

  It marked so many steps taken in her life. Good and bad. She had been bled as a child. Frequently. It had been excruciatingly painful. Many of the treatments she’d been subjected to had been. And then, as her health had begun to improve, she had taken what opportunity she could to sneak out and roam the estate. That was how she had met Penny. She had found her lost on the estate, having wandered too far from home.

  Beatrice had been loath to let anyone know that she had been out, as she hated to reveal her secrets. But she had found a great deal of freedom and pain out in the world, when she had finally been able to explore nature. Bee stings and the sharp pain of falling and scraping your knee. Falling out of a tree.

  All things that she never wanted her brother to know had occurred. But she had begun to associate it with her liberation.

  And sometimes... There was a familiarity to it that hurt. It was not something she spoke of. Not ever. For it made little sense, even to herself. Yet as her nerves began to fray she found balance in the pain in her palm. A sort of grounding sensation.

  A sense of strength.

  A sense that she knew herself and that she could withstand far more than anyone believed. It was that sense that gave her confidence now.